


run boy run (break out from society)

by aleccbanes



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 15:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8494423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleccbanes/pseuds/aleccbanes
Summary: his stance is impeccable. his strikes are textbook perfect. he glides across the training room floor like a dancer, graceful and completely in his element and then-
he gets knocked on his ass.
for the fifth time in a row.
-
alec's world is built around two things; nephilim ideologies, and family.
one makes him hate himself, the other betrays him.
it leads to him walking down the aisle to magnus bane though, so maybe something went right.





	

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my tumblr @bisexualmbane
> 
> hope you enjoy!!!

10.

his stance is impeccable. his strikes are textbook perfect. he glides across the training room floor like a dancer, graceful and completely in his element and then-

he gets knocked on his ass.

for the fifth time in a row.

getting shakily to his feet, he only gets a glance of preston’s smug sneer before turning his back and running down the hall of the institute. away from the other kids’ laughter, away from his mother’s disapproving stare, away from hodge’s concerned call. alec runs, and he doesn’t look back.

his feet carry him to the library on autopilot. it’s his favourite place in the institute, maybe even all of new york (his father says he can’t possibly know that with a smile in his voice and a little bit of worry in his eyes. because while he encourages both his children to be academic, he wants their first nature to be on the battlefield. it is the lightwood way.

“what a prick.” aline says, years later as they share a stolen beer on the rooftop of her home in idris.

alec snorts.)

alec dashes between the shelves. not slowing until he reaches the secluded section to the far west of the library. cobwebs criss cross upwards, intertwining with the books. it’s one of the few parts of the institute that isn’t scarily pristine, and alec loves it.

but any joy the play usually invokes is gone as the sob that had been steadily building over the last hour is ripped from his chest. he clamps a hand quickly over his mouth he slides to floor, shaking. his free hand tugging sharply at his hair as he tries to stave off the tears. he can’t cry he can’t cry he can’t cry not here not now (not ever).

it takes five counts of 60 for his breathing to even back out, for his small body to stop shaking, and when he finally raises his head from his knees it’s to meet the steely gaze of his mother.

he gasps, an apology already tripping off his tongue, when maryse sweeps down and wraps an arm around him. it’s not quite a hug - but it has alec pausing and his breathing slowing once more. she’s warm and smells of a strange yet familiar mix of leather and lavender. it’s comforting, in a way his mother had refused to be since his training began seven months ago.

alec hiccups; looking up at her with wide, red eyes. and for a moment is transported back to the nights he had spent watching baby izzy sleep while sitting on his mother’s lap as she stroked his hair. maryse had been so soft then, so gentle. and it’s not that she isn’t like that at all now; just that the tender moments are getting further and farther in between.

with a somewhat terse smile she runs a hand through his curls before pressing a soft, hardly there kiss to his head. his eyes close and he slowly matches his breathing to hers. he feels safe. loved.

voice barely a whisper, maryse speaks into his hair, “your form is perfect alexander. you’re doing everything right, and that is where you’re going wrong.”

he looks up at her, confused, and she smiles softly. “you’re following the rules too closely, alec. you’re relying on them. whereas what preston is relying on is _you_ relying on the rules. which is why he keeps winning.”

alec’s brow is still furrowed, “then what do i do?”

his mother grins, eyes gleaming like a dog that had just seen a bone, “you have to mess up on purpose. rules are important alec, but in a real fight your opponent isn’t going to abide to a rulebook, so you can’t either. you have to be better than them alec. you have to _adapt.”_

alec stares up at his mother with wonder in his eyes and she keeps smiling at him as he processes what she said. making a mistake…on purpose? it goes against every fiber of his being but he knows she’s right. she’s always right.

squaring his jaw he nods determinedly and gets to his feet.

* * *

 12.

jace wayland is small.

that’s alec’s first thought when he sees the new boy. he’s slouched in between maryse and robert, which doesn’t exactly help, but alec thinks even if he stood up straight he’d still be shorter than little izzy. alec’s a little thrown, he was expecting the boy to be a freak, already 6 foot and made of muscle. but jace is so small and lean he could almost be described as ratty. he has his arms curled around himself and is being swallowed up by the oversized t-shirt that robert had obviously given him; and what’s visible of his arms is stained purple and green with bruises.

alec doesn’t like change. he prefers things to be constant. simple. but jace wayland is tiny and bruised and looks like he needs a friend more than anything.

his parents are eyeing him expectantly and jace is watching him from under a floppy blond fringe. his eyes splinter from blue to brown and alec’s breath catches in his chest for the first time of many.

shaking himself slightly, alec smiles kindly and holds out his hand.

* * *

 15.

his side burns for weeks after the parabatai ceremony. but he’s happy. and so is jace. they can’t stop smiling at each other.

(he tells himself that the butterflies in his stomach and the way his heart skips a beat when he sees the younger boy is just because of the newly formed bond between them. it has to be.

he tells himself that the sadness on hodge’s face when the man catches him staring at jace is because he pities the pain and amplified connection the parabatai rune causes. it must be.)

* * *

 16.

helen blackthorn kisses him on a quiet november evening just outside of alicante’s city limits. there’s a light layer of snow on everything and her lips are warm as they softly crush against the very corner of his mouth. he doesn’t (and never does) think it really counts as a first kiss, but it’s nice. her lips leave his skin after a few seconds and for a minute after they just breathe, heads pressed together and eyes closed. and for a wild second alec thinks that maybe he could be everything his parents and the clave want him to be.

but then they both lean back and alec opens his eyes and looks at helen. she’s beautiful, anyone could see that, with her ice blue eyes shining brightly against dark skin. the yellow hijab she always wears flecked with snow and dirt from when they sled down the hill. she’s beautiful, and his stomach drops in shame and embarrassment as alec realises he doesn’t want her, not even a little.

his turmoil must show on his face because after a flash of something (realisation? pity? disgust? alec’s heart is a jackrabbit in his chest.) her face softens into calm and gentle and terrifying _knowing_ (he wants to run, run, run, more than he ever has before.)

he opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water, searching for a way out, an explanation, _anything_. but before he can helen is embracing him once more. it’s different this time though. one arm is around his waist, the other wrapped around his shoulder so her hand can pet his hair. her breath is warm against the shell of his ear as she whispers, “it’s okay alec, i understand. it’s _okay_.”

he slumps into her, seeking comfort for the first time in years and thinking, ‘it’s really, really not.’

* * *

 17.

he looks like his father more and more with each passing day. but he starts to carry himself like his mother (everywhere except in the presence of the woman herself. then his shoulders stay hunched, hands behind his back, good little soldier boy, ready to adapt.) starts to carry himself like a leader. he tries to become a reflection of what he perceives to be the best parts of his parents. he just wishes that reflection was crystal clear, without smudges, perfect.

jace pants as they separate on the training room floor, and alec’s flush has nothing to do with the sparring.

* * *

 19.

he’s made the acting head of the institute for the foreseeable future as his parents want to remain in idris more often. they have a ‘celebratory dinner’ (izzy calls it a party and their mother snaps at her. jace calls it a party and gets an eyeroll paired with a smile. little max looks confused. alec’s jaw hurts from clenching it so hard) but apart from that the dinner is pleasant, fun even. alec smiles more that he has in a long while.

it’s nearing the end of dinner. jace had been teasing him about all the action he’s going to miss out on while doing paperwork; alec had raised an eyebrow and said they aren’t allowed on missions without him anyway, so what action would he be missing out on exactly? now jace is stuttering under the pressure of maryse’s stern, yet amused glare while the rest of them snigger behind their hands. alec’s chest feels warm and happy in a way it rarely does around his parents these days, but the warmth turns icy when his father says through a mouthful of peas;

“well you’ll have to find a wife soon enough. then you can share the workload.”

he feels izzy freeze beside him. and hopes and prays that the twisted thing he forces onto his face resembles a smile.

“yes, yes of course. all in due time.”

he excuses himself to the bathroom a few minutes later. he walks, calm, cool, collected, out of the dining room and down the corridor. and when he’s sure his family can no longer see him he breaks into a sprint, skidding into the bathroom and barely bolting the door before he’s retching into the basin, shaking.

* * *

 21.

“take what you need.”

alec’s not sure why he says it. offering his power and body to a warlock, especially one as powerful as magnus bane is stupid. it’s foolish and reckless and just plain _stupid_ , everything he isn’t meant, and has never been allowed, to be.

but magnus’ hand sends sparks through him that have nothing to do with the magic. and when he falls into him, dazed and panting, alec ignore the skip in his chest in favour of asking if magnus is alright. he says he is, but neither of them make any move to get up, to stop holding hands.

alec tells himself he only keeps holding magnus because despite his platitudes the warlock does look weak. alec is simply supporting him until he’s ready to stand. that’s all.

that’s all there’s allowed to be.

* * *

 21.

betrayal bubbles under his skin; threatening to boil over. alec has never been this angry in his life. a life that feels like, no, a life that _is_ falling apart around him. the situation with clary was bad enough. but now he had found out his parents had been part of the _circle_? the revelation makes alec feel sick; not just because of his parent’s disgusting actions, but because it made sense. everything about his parents had been thrust into startling clarity; and alec himself feels muddier than ever.

his thoughts race and jump and muddle as he shakes in the confines of his room in the middle of the night. the drawings in a textbook of murdered downworlders. his mother’s pursed lips. hodge’s circle mark; burning red like fire. vampire’s burnt in piles. little soldier boy. a smudge on the mirror. retching in the bathroom after dinner. he looks like his father and carries himself like his mother. his mother who carried a knife into what was meant to be a peaceful negotiation 20 years ago and then returned home to kiss his forehead and clean the blood out from under her nails. _you have to be better alec, you have to adapt._ jace panting on the training room floor. _you drilled into me i was never good enough._ blue to brown splintered making his heart race. magnus’ hand in his, hair brushing his chin. he isn’t good enough he never will be but goddamnit hadn’t he tried for the last twenty fucking years and what had it amounted to? what was he if all he ever craved was the affection, attention, and approval of murderers?

dawn paints his room in broad strokes. blue to golden. his teeth have broken the skin of his hand from biting his fist and now blood dribbles down his chin. oh mother, he thinks bitterly, in the dark of night would you stake me without asking? without looking twice?

he wipes his eyes and then gets ready to start the day. shoulder’s hunched, knuckles bloody.

* * *

 21.

he has to restore the family name. bring some respect back to the sound of the name lightwood. then maybe there will be a modicum of stability, of honor, of hope. he can’t just stand by. he has to do _something._

so he proposes to lydia branwell. it’s the right thing, the logical thing, to do.

steam paints his reflection hazy in the bathroom mirror as he washes the vomit down the drain.

* * *

 21.

he can’t breathe.

lydia stands across from him, glimmering in gold and white, the stele that was poised to burn a life sentence into his wrist now hangs loosely. it and alec’s jaw currently have that in common.

magnus bane stands at the other end of the aisle. his eyes are framed with black, his hair streaked with pink. his eyes are pleading and cautious and alec. can’t. breathe.

(he’s always had trouble looking at jace for too long, afraid of his own scalding cheeks or scolding parents. but with magnus, it’s always struggle to look away.)

_“you deserve to be happy.”_

alec’s not positive about that. not yet. but now, finally, he sees that he shouldn’t have to be miserable because of mistakes his parents made. if he bows to them, bows to the clave, then he’ll just be another pawn. no better than his parents. and he wants that, to be better.

he doesn’t necessarily need to be happy to be a better leader, a better shadowhunter, but maybe he shouldn’t be as opposed to that as he has been.

and magnus…magnus could make him happy.

alec’s feet are steady as he steps down from the altar and begins to walk towards magnus. towards magnus, away from lydia. towards magnus, away from the clave. away from rigidity and unreachable expectations and a life he didn’t want. towards magnus. the room sparkles and alec knows there will be consequences, but aren’t there always? hasn’t his entire life been built around the consequences of others? his feet fall softly yet firmly on the carpet; his eyes never leaving magnus’. alec walks down the aisle.

and he doesn’t look back.


End file.
